


First

by Wander (devilsduplicity)



Series: Warning Sign [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 12:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16017608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilsduplicity/pseuds/Wander
Summary: The first night he spends in his brother's bed is thelastnight Genji will do such.





	First

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble of a roleplay written between myself and my partner. AU -- Canon Divergence. Rather than kill Genji as the elders had demanded, Hanzo makes him his pet.

The first night he spends in his brother's bed is the last night Genji will do such.

The Incident (and he will forever think of it in those terms, the negative implication unspoken—the feel of Hanzo’s soft lips in a surprised slant, Genji breathing drunk and timid while he pressed in when he should have done anything _but_ )— the Incident still a fresh wound in his mind, Hanzo had simply demanded his company, of all things.

His obedience.

Had locked Genji in his quarters, and called them a shared space. 

The first night. Another show of weakness. Genji had asked for more than a sibling should—another meeting of mouths, shaky and wrong—and Hanzo had given it to him. 

Offered to give him everything.

“Genji.”

Exasperation. That's the tone. Not disgust, regret, obligation.

Simple exasperation that Genji has chosen not to listen.

“No,” he says, firm. “I will sleep here.” On the meditation pillows in the living room. 

He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Come to bed with me. There is no need for you to act like this.”

A step closer, one which Genji mirrors with a step back.

Hanzo lays a hand across his brow. Sighs.

“You want this. Why will you not let me give you what you want?”

Genji unravels a hand from its secure knot, flings a gesture toward the closed door. Locked. Coded. Eight numbered digits which he does not ( _yet_ ) know.

“Out there, I am yours.”

Retracts his arm.

“In here, I am mine.”

\----------

Board meetings do not go any more smoothly than the last. Though Hanzo has brought a pillow for Genji to kneel on, now, so his knees ache less.

His sits, stiff-backed and proper, next to his brother's right knee. Obedient. The perfect pet.

A wild thing that Hanzo has tamed. 

When particularly stressful questions are asked, Hanzo will often lay a hand in his hair (still pastel green, but Genji has booked an appointment with his hairdresser to change it -- feels he needs a change). Will play with loose locks curled around the nape of his neck. As if a nervous gesture.

As if petting Genji soothes him.

Such thoughts are hard to strike from his mind, but the youngest Shimada does his best to cut them down.

The Arrangement (what Genji has taken to calling this, Hanzo's stupid little plan to appease the elders, keep Genji alive, keep their bloodline in power over the Shimada-gumi) is an ignorant one.

Genji knows what Hanzo believes.

That it will be easier for the unruly, undisciplined brother to listen if simply given a taste of what he has yearned for.

Eight years.

The first dream had been a surprise. Shameful. _Wet_. But something to laugh at, brush off.

Genji had not laughed at the others.

He does not laugh, now. Not when Hanzo strokes a delicate finger around the shell of his ear. Not when his brother had curled around his back on that first ( _only_ ) night in Hanzo's bed, had sighed into his hair like he was _happy_. Not when his anija frowns at the statement— _but you do not want me as I want you_ —and does not refute it, but looks confused all the same. 

It is an _ignorant_ Arrangement.

\----------

“Come to bed, ototo.”

“No.”

“Genji.”

“I am not yours.”

“I have not professed you to be anything but your own.”

“That is not the point.”

“Enlighten me, then. What _is_ your point?”

“You are not _mine_ , either.”

\----------

In Hanzo's quarters, there is nothing but softness, and want, and the unbridled fear that Genji will fold, give in to his desires, take freely from what his anija offers him.

It would be so _easy_.

He wonders how Hanzo would react.

Genji straddling his waist on the edge of the bed, rolling against him just so. A slick bruise left on Hanzo's shoulder, dark and hidden amongst ink, teeth ravenous in their desire to feel taut skin giving beneath them. Not sharp enough to draw blood, but insistent and eager to attempt. A mischievous finger dipped between folds of fabric, wriggling along that cut V of a lovely pelvic bone. The first brush of pubic hair against the pad of his thumb.

How he would nose a path up to the soft curve of Hanzo's ear. Whisper, _I want to feel you grow inside my mouth. I want you in my throat, choking the air from me. I want your come on my face, anija, marking me, claiming me. Your cock inside, spilling so, so deep, making me messy._

Would Hanzo gasp? Moan? _Beg?_

It would be so easy, but would it be _right?_

\----------

The first night passes. And the next. And the next.

Until a month has come and gone, and Genji is comfortable in their routine, and the meditation pillows smell of him, though he uses the same shampoo and soap as his brother, so he supposes that doesn't matter much.

Hanzo is out discussing a private matter with Ueda Yuki, one of the more agreeable elders (one who will survive the culling, no doubt, as she had been the only one vocally against the ultimatum of Genji's death). He returns with a scowl, a hand pressed to his brow as soon as the door shuts safely behind him, trying to rub away the headache banging around behind his eyes.

“Hanzo?”

“One moment, Genji.” A pause, and a whisper, “please.”

If nothing else, Genji has found solace in one aspect of this Arrangement. The relationship he had so cruelly severed with his brother for eight long years has finally found a way to … repair.

In a strange, unintuitive way, certainly, but a restoration of a much more innocent time.

Genji is on his feet, immediately. Had been lounging on the meditation pillows, book in hand, but folds the edge of the page he was on, and lays it down easily.

He runs water to the electric kettle. Starts it. Arranges flaky tea leaves into the base of an old teapot, one he has come to know as their mother's, something Hanzo had chosen to keep close.

Genji doesn't speak as he moves. Simply acts. Steeps the tea in hot water, sets two cups out on a tray, and pours it with a delicate, measured hand.

“Sit.”

When he looks up, gives his little command, Hanzo's watching him. For how long, he does not know, but his brother's dark eyes seem … different, somehow. Clear, bright.

He does sit, wordlessly, and Genji sits across from him in the same cross-legged pose, their knees touching. The tray is placed at their side, balanced on a plush blue lap pillow.

Genji grabs a cup of tea, holds it out to Hanzo with a bowed head. Respectful of his brother's need for space, for quiet, eyes downcast between them.

The cup leaves his hand, and Genji lets out a pleased breath, glad that he can give at least this much, some solace for his anija after what must have been a stressful day.

Moves to pull back, straighten, but is startled by two fingers curling around his jaw, and the sound of a ceramic teacup settling against a silver tray.

“Ototo.”

The voice sounds tired, but happy. Gentle fingers urge his face up, until bright green can meet dark eyes.

For a moment, a long one, Hanzo simply looks at him. Holds his jaw between thumb and forefinger. Searches his features for something, but Genji is unsure what that could be.

“Hanzo?”

“Shh. Let me look on you, Genji.”

And look he does. Eyes roam the confused crease of Genji's forehead, the high cheekbones flushed in bloody shades. The way strands of black hair have fallen from their mousse and tickle along the sides of his face. The plump lips, pink and soft, and how a nervous bite to the lower one distorts an otherwise prim and perfect line.

“Lovely.”

Genji swallows around the bundle of steel wool that has taken up residence in his throat. 

“Arrogant to say,” he replies, trying for a tease to help usher away the red he feels on his face, his neck.

“May I kiss you?”

Hanzo does not stop looking at him. The question freezes up his brain. It's the first time Hanzo has asked for such a thing.

“What?”

His brother leans in. Hand shifts to cup the side of Genji's face, to hold him in place when their foreheads touch. To keep him close.

“I wish to feel your lips on mine.”

Low, intimate between them.

This is another dream, surely. But warm, minty breath flutters across the line of a cool lip, recently bitten, so slightly damp, and it does not _feel_ like a dream.

“Why?”

Hanzo sighs. His finger traces the curve of Genji's ear, tucking loose strands of hair behind it. As if it is a comfort. As if it makes him _happy_.

“Because you are yours,” he says. “As am I.”


End file.
